Violence is your stock in trade. It’s how you get by and how you settle scores. You don’t make friends easily but you’re dog-loyal to those few you have. Those that cross them will have to answer to you. You’re a protector of the weak but you’re no hero. Hell, sometimes you’re just the biggest thing in the room. When you do have to tussle, you get the job done—the quicker, the better. It’s the big enemies, the rare trophies, the ones that make it personal, that you take your time with—make the pain last nice and long. Teach them sons of bitches the true meaning of retribution.

Some folks call you a monster—and maybe that’s just what you are—but you’re the closest thing to a savior these streets’ll ever see. Because you know the truth. You can smell the stench of bullshit under all the flowery talk, and you know the system is just as crooked as that busted nose on your mug. You don’t buy into the spin or hollow promises—you know what makes Bedlam tick. And you know that one day, that tick is gonna go boom.